With Apologies to St Nick
by Archaeologist
Summary: Twas the night before Christmas. What in Camelot could possibly go wrong?  Crack humour taken from the old poem  "A Visit from St. Nicholas" by Clement Moore 1823.


**Advent prompt:** Day 24 – T'was the (k)night before Christmas  
**Warning:** death of a character (not our heroes)  
**Note:** Some crack humour taken from the old poem "A Visit from St. Nicholas" by Clement Clarke Moore 1823.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; BBC and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.

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Twas the night before Christmas.

When all through the castle, not a creature was stirring, not even Arthur Pendragon – who if it must be said, was sleeping, prat-like and entitled, having tired himself out by piling more chores on Merlin and then following him around, criticizing his every little move and then complaining when they weren't done fast enough. All that hard work and Arthur was the one snoring.

The stockings were not hung by the chimney with care because princes don't hang anything up with care, especially stockings. Those were hung willy-nilly all over the room and on the antlers and sometimes above the bed curtains. And although children might hope that St. Nicholas would soon be there, Arthur didn't believe in such things, scoffed at them. When Merlin had mentioned it, Arthur had laughed outright and then threw another stocking up into the air – which landed on Merlin's head. At least this time, he threw something soft.

Anyway, the prince was indeed snug in his bed. Merlin supposed there were visions of sugar-plums dancing in his head somewhere but more likely the prat was thinking of the next training bout or maybe a new and innovative torment to put Merlin through.

Merlin was tired, too. He'd like to be in his own bed but there were still chores to do, things to clean and remnants of the latest feast to sweep away.

Still as he took a moment to look around, his ears pricked at the sounds of something different in the air, a sort of ho-ho-ho that seemed more jovial than threatening. Too many things lately had been dangerous and Merlin would really like a break, thank you very much. But it was best to investigate.

Girding himself for yet another potential magical save - with no 'thank yous' of course, he leaned out the window just in time to see a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer in the sky heading toward Camelot.

Oh, damn. It's a magical attack.

Just one day. Couldn't he have just one damn day off?

At least the moon was bright and he could see what was going on. Hear it, too. The old guy in red was yelling at his reindeer. Typical. Does everyone in charge always yell at those under them? Prince Prat did, King Uther did, even Gaius yelled at Merlin sometimes.

Or was this something more? Old St. Nick, here to bring toys to all the good children of the world? It could be.

As he drew closer, the creature, man, whatever, seemed really jovial enough, white-furred and red-cloaked but Merlin had to be wary. Too many other sorcerers had appeared to be nice at first and then boom, knights were getting knocked off their horses or Camelot was in flames or Arthur was dying – again. Merlin couldn't be too careful.

He raced up the stairs and onto the battlements, just in time to see this elf-like creature hopping out of his sleigh, a bag of something over one shoulder. If Merlin had believed the stories, the bag would be full of goodies for kids of all ages but more likely, this contained the undead or poisonous spiders or a baby questing beast or two. Or perhaps worse - deadly weapons spelled to look like innocent toys.

The person did look really jolly, his eyes twinkled and he had dimples. A white beard and rosy red cheeks. He smoked, too, although where he got tobacco since they hadn't discovered the new world yet was a mystery but then so much of Camelot was. Merlin didn't let that bother him too much. Magic and all can be wondrous as well as terrifying.

But Merlin was ready for him. Gathering magic around him, just in case, he said, "What do you want here?"

"Ho, ho, ho, what a little warlock you are. So proud, so fierce." When Merlin only scowled at him, the elf said, "I am St. Nick, here to bring toys to all the good girls and boys. Have you been a good boy this year?"

That didn't sound right. According to legend, St. Nick should already know that. "I thought you had a list that you checked for that sort of thing."

The man-elf-whatever gave another chuckle. "You shouldn't believe everything you read, young one. Besides, the question was rhetorical. I know you've been good, especially for your Arthur."

"He's not my Arthur and I _have_ been bad. As St. Nick should know." He stepped forward, slipping a little on the snow but never allowing his gaze to falter. "I killed a lot of people including bandits and the entire army of Cenred's. Then there were the Sidhe, a pixie and some wyverns and that's just this year."

Frowning, the elf seemed to be uncertain of what to do next. "My, my, you have been busy. You were slated to have your heart's desire this Christmas, but now all I have for you is…. _Forbærne_!"

The fireball heading in his direction wasn't exactly unexpected but at least Merlin knew what to do. After all, he'd done it before. Many times.

Diving past, the fire still seemed to single the hairs on his neck and his back felt warm but at least it had missed him.

With a great heave, he shoved the fireball back adding several more to the mix. "_T__óhlídaþ, __bryneas_!"

The creature began to roar; behind him, the eight tiny reindeer and sleigh morphed into a griffin.

Wonderful, two creatures to fight and kill without anyone noticing. Great.

He only hoped that Arthur would sleep through it. That way, he wouldn't have to knock him out again.

Stumbling back, he reached out, hoping to find something to throw at the griffin. Some of the roof slate broke under his hand and he flung it at the creature, adding, "_Bregdan__ anweald __stánas_!" But although they hit the creature, the pieces didn't kill, only seemed to madden it.

He didn't have time to sigh but he wanted to. He had had enough for one day.

Desperate, he looked around. Below, in the courtyard, things seemed deserted. At least he wouldn't be explaining things tomorrow – he hoped. In one corner, he could see a cluster of pikes left for the armourer to pick up after the holidays. Perfect.

**"**_Bregdan__ anweald __gafelucas_." And he threw his hand high, aiming toward both the elf-creature and the griffin. A dozen pikes rose into the air, glowing in the blue of magical incantation, heading straight for his foes. The griffin tried to rise, wheeling away but the weapons followed, piercing it. With a great cry, it crashed into the courtyard and thrashing about, died amidst snow and still-falling slate.

A huge creature, wingspan large enough to cover most of the inner court.

Great. That would be easy to explain – or not. Maybe evil creatures came to Camelot and died every day? Come to think of it, they pretty much did.

But he had one more problem. The elf wasn't taking kindly to the destruction of his transportation or his pet or whatever it was. A great cry and 'jolly old St. Nick' was on him, little hands surprisingly strong and he was as heavy as he looked.

But Arthur had taught him a few things and with a great heave, he pushed the creature off.

It must have caught him off balance. Sliding backwards, the sorcerer-elf kept trying to grab onto whatever it could but the roof slates were breaking apart – they needed to be repaired come spring and all it did was make things worse. With a second scream, almost as terrible as the griffin's, the elf slid off the roof and onto the snow-covered courtyard below.

He dared not look down. By now, there would be guards searching for other magical beings to skewer. After all, on Christmas Eve to find a dead griffin and demon-elf only put things into high alert, well higher alert than normal. Merlin knew that they'd be looking for more and he didn't want to be found out just yet.

Thankfully, whatever trace of St Nick's infamous bag of trinkets had disappeared. He hadn't wanted to deal with evil toys on top of everything else.

Of course, at that moment, the warning bell had to start ringing. Of course.

Merlin ignored it. Brushing at his hair, cinders and snow coating his jacket, he figured the only way to explain things was to run in excitedly and wake up Arthur. He was sure it would work. It always had before.

A final shake and he turned the knob, fast-slipping into Arthur's room with a loud, horrified, "Did you see that?"

Arthur was already up, just gave him a hard glower and buckled his sword into place. "Where have you been? At the tavern again?"

Ummmm, sounded like a good excuse. "Arthur, I…." He tried to make it sound as if he were more than a little guilty of a few too many drinks.

It must have worked because Arthur only rolled his eyes. "Next time, no Christmas Eve off. You only get into trouble. Now, come on. I hear there's a dead griffin and some kind of odd-looking creature in the courtyard. Maybe Gaius has some idea of what it is and what to expect if more show up."

Never mind that it was Merlin that dealt with the creatures, not Gaius but he didn't think that Arthur would appreciate knowing that just yet.

Next Christmas eve, though, he would be ready for 'old St. Nick'.


End file.
